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Jazz fest this weekend. So naturally Church Street was packed and the weather was right for making money.
I'm out there late Saturday evening and the crowds are just amazing. This couple had been waiting for me to set up. They only had a couple dollars to donate but they really wanted a reading. I don't have a set amount for donations, not that I'd be able to anyway, but a couple dollars is fine and I'm not going to say no to it. It's better than pennies.
So I'm reading the woman and halfway through the reading these teens get near the table. As they're talking about how they want to get a reading I also see a family and their children looking my way, curious.
Idiot Teen 1 = IT1
The Artist Suffering for his Craft: Me
Me: *Focusing on the middle set of cards and explaining to the woman who is listening intently*
IDT1: I want to get a reading! Dude, you're taking to long, I want a reading. Fuck this, you took loong. *I look up as he's walking away and he holds out two twenty dollar bills* This how much money I was going to give you for a reading but you took too fucking long!
He was saying this while the family was still nearby.
Me: *calling back* And I would have told you to take a hike either way because I don't allow that kind of language at my table!
I apologized to the client and continued the reading.
Later that evening I was getting ready to go home. It was past eleven PM, and Church Street Marketplace rules clearly state that performers and vendors have to be off the street by this time. I was a little late because of a few clients who wanted a reading.
These kids started gathering near me. I'd say all of them ranged from between sixteen and seventeen. The police were no longer patrolling here and there weren't alot of adults here by this time so basically it was time for them to come out and act like they were little gangstas.
Gangsta 1
Gangsta 2
Gangsta 3
Suffering Artist = Me
Gangsta 1: Yo, can I get a free reading?
Me: Not right now.
Gangsta 3: Come on man, give us all a free reading.
For one there's about seven of them milling around me. I don't like being crowded and I definitely don't like being told what to do. I continue packing up my stuff, making damn sure to get my money out of the donations bucket before someone decided to get sticky hands.
Gangsta 2 sits down in one of the chairs.
Gangsta 2: Come on man, you gotta give me a reading.
Me: *firmly* It's past eleven and I'm done reading for the night. You need to leave.
Gangsta 3: Man, you're Peter Griffen anyway. *WTF?*
They all walk away muttering how I'm a racist with Gangsta 3 continuing to say something about how I'm Peter Griffen and "where's Stewie at?"
Not for the first time I began to contemplate how my large folding easel with which I hang my sign and the donations bucket is blunt and made of metal. When I had folded it up and made sure everything was screwed tightly I took a practice swing.
I'm out there late Saturday evening and the crowds are just amazing. This couple had been waiting for me to set up. They only had a couple dollars to donate but they really wanted a reading. I don't have a set amount for donations, not that I'd be able to anyway, but a couple dollars is fine and I'm not going to say no to it. It's better than pennies.
So I'm reading the woman and halfway through the reading these teens get near the table. As they're talking about how they want to get a reading I also see a family and their children looking my way, curious.
Idiot Teen 1 = IT1
The Artist Suffering for his Craft: Me
Me: *Focusing on the middle set of cards and explaining to the woman who is listening intently*
IDT1: I want to get a reading! Dude, you're taking to long, I want a reading. Fuck this, you took loong. *I look up as he's walking away and he holds out two twenty dollar bills* This how much money I was going to give you for a reading but you took too fucking long!
He was saying this while the family was still nearby.
Me: *calling back* And I would have told you to take a hike either way because I don't allow that kind of language at my table!
I apologized to the client and continued the reading.
Later that evening I was getting ready to go home. It was past eleven PM, and Church Street Marketplace rules clearly state that performers and vendors have to be off the street by this time. I was a little late because of a few clients who wanted a reading.
These kids started gathering near me. I'd say all of them ranged from between sixteen and seventeen. The police were no longer patrolling here and there weren't alot of adults here by this time so basically it was time for them to come out and act like they were little gangstas.
Gangsta 1
Gangsta 2
Gangsta 3
Suffering Artist = Me
Gangsta 1: Yo, can I get a free reading?
Me: Not right now.
Gangsta 3: Come on man, give us all a free reading.
For one there's about seven of them milling around me. I don't like being crowded and I definitely don't like being told what to do. I continue packing up my stuff, making damn sure to get my money out of the donations bucket before someone decided to get sticky hands.
Gangsta 2 sits down in one of the chairs.
Gangsta 2: Come on man, you gotta give me a reading.
Me: *firmly* It's past eleven and I'm done reading for the night. You need to leave.
Gangsta 3: Man, you're Peter Griffen anyway. *WTF?*
They all walk away muttering how I'm a racist with Gangsta 3 continuing to say something about how I'm Peter Griffen and "where's Stewie at?"
Not for the first time I began to contemplate how my large folding easel with which I hang my sign and the donations bucket is blunt and made of metal. When I had folded it up and made sure everything was screwed tightly I took a practice swing.
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